The Herald's Shadow
by Lord Sadacchus
Summary: An orphaned girl. Her distant uncle, who she had never met before, and the mysterious organisation he represents. A planet going through social, political, and economic upheavals. How shall these factors intertwine? Find out how. Fusion Fic.
1. Descent and Arrival

_**Disclaimer: **_

I do not own Warhammer 40k, it is owned by Games Workshop. Nor do I own Winter Harrison, Cyrus Addington, or any other elements from Dysfunctional Systems I have incorporated in this story.

* * *

><p><em><strong>The Herald's Shadow<strong>_

**Chapter 1**_**, Descent and Arrival**_

I fidgeted in my chair as the metallic cacophony of grating and whining reached a new crescendo. Equally alarming clanks and thuds from behind my shaking seat stood reminder to the cargo accompanying us in this enclosed hold.

Besides me, in an equally roughshod affair of a chair, was Mr. Wakefields. When we started this journey a few months ago, he had introduced himself as my caretaker and chaperon. So far, he had failed miserably on both accounts.

Jerk.

Noticing my stare, _I really need to stop doing that; _he gave a forced, toothy smile. "Don't worry Missy! Might be a tad rocky, but we'll make it through A-OK!" He shouted above the racket.

My name is Winter Harrison, Sir. _Thank you_.

A harsh thump knocked me forward, nearly pitching me from my seat. Crash-webbing you ask? All I had was a long piece of cloth around my waist; the flight crew used it to tie me to the blocky metal seat. My arms strained as it forced my upper body back into an upright sitting position. My breathing accelerated, heaving stale air in and out of my lungs.

"_No need to worry lass, we'll be through the atmosphere in fifteen minutes, and'll land in twenty." _They said.

Why? Why oh why do I need to go through all this? Why the hell am I here, sitting in a cargo hold that is obviously NOT meant to transport living things, much less people. On route to a planet I've never heard about to be handed off to a distant uncle.

"_Because you're an orphan now, stupid girl_," a small voice in the back of my head answered chidingly.

It had happened so fast. The meeting with the Headmaster, the letter, the funeral, then the orphanage, before finally meeting Mr. Wakefields and departing on the journey to meet Uncle Cyrus.

A month ago I was just another girl in the Flavius Boarding Scholatica. Now I don't even have any parents.

I shook my head. Out of all the things I could have thought of, why did it have to be that? I needed to focus on something else. Something less depressing.

Another jolt rocked the ship, thrashing me at my seat. My cruel imagination supplied me with a picture of a plummeting transport, alight like a falling torch.

No, not thoughts about imminent fiery death either.

* * *

><p>Finding a taxicab had been a hassle, that's for sure. At least contacting the kid's uncle wasn't.<p>

He'd answered the vox even before the first ring had finished, and had sounded mildly annoyed that I was calling on behalf of the orphanage. Then again, I'm not surprised. Who would want a teenager to be suddenly deposited onto their lap?

Even for the Orphanage, teenagers were considered burdensome. Too old to be sold to the guilds or the death cults, and too young to have any useful skills that merchant or noble families might desire. Chances were, she would have been earmarked for one of the myriad brothels in the lower hive.

I peered at the girl sitting behind me. She was munching on one of the hard bars I'd given to her.

Hm… Slim figure, clean face… with natural light grey hair. She'd definitely appeal to certain types of men. Light grey hair was considered slightly exotic even in the cosmopolitan Hive Redsand. Would have done pretty well client-wise.

Lucky for her, her parents had managed to somehow save up three thousand thrones. How they did, despite being only mid-level officials, was a mystery. What made this entire trip worthwhile was their will. Whoever managed to deliver her to this Cyrus would get two thousand thrones of the inheritance, with the rest being divided equally between her and her uncle.

Interplanetary travel was costly, but with that many thrones on the line, the director had been keen on delivering her before any possible complications with the blasted Inheritance Office emerged. In fact, he'd promised that if I managed to spend below 800 thrones in this trip, I'd get to pocket the difference.

It was a tall order, but a lifetime of frugal spending on behalf of the Orphanage had prepared me. All in all, we've spent little more than 400 thrones on this entire trip. It had been a tad uncomfortable most of the time, travelling in cargo-holds and old maintenance bays, but I was planning on renting actual cabins on the way back, since I'll only be paying for myself.

I spent the next few minutes mulling over the journey back to Hive Redsand. The journey to this planet, Farsight, had been quite a hard one to plan. Traffic to this planet was sparse.

By the time I had a vague idea on the transits I'd have to make, I noticed that the girl had finished her lunch and was staring out of the taxicab window.

The area outside the spaceport was still densely populated. Then again, for her, the most eye-catching sight would undoubtedly be the sky. Typical. Stare at the sky and wonder.

Chances were, she was wondering about her future.

* * *

><p>"You'll have a nice life here. Your uncle is an administratum official. His wages should be enough to support the both of you." Wakefields said, catching my attention.<p>

Uncle Cyrus the Administratum bureaucrat. My uncle, younger brother of father. He who works on the Agri-world of Farsight. Bachelor.

A detailed picture indeed.

"You're lucky, you know, we've been at a loss on how to deal with orphans from non-military families. Especially teenage ones, ever since the Seirota Institute stopped taking orphans above the age of twelve." Wakefields went on.

He continued talking about the orphanage business. It was decidedly the only topic he knew. The Vellum Conglomerate and their need for more bondsmen; The Seirota Institute and their Jannissaries; the noble houses and their standard bearers and choir attendants.

Occasionally, he'd tell stories about the few orphans that were genuinely adopted.

A rarity.

I followed his ramble. As expected, nothing new. I focused my attention back at the window.

Upon arrival, I had shakily walked towards the unloading deck. What had assaulted me first was the air. It was oily and scorched, but as I finally peered out of the ramp, I saw the heavens. It was mesmerizing.

I had seen the sky above Hive Redsand once before. It had been glaringly red, as if dying and angry. The sky of Farsight was different – it was strangely blue. It had looked kind and inviting. Wakefields had laughed at my dumbstruck reaction, but assigned a name to that particular hue of blue.

Azure.

The sky was azure. Deep, murky blue, with the occasional puffy white cloud and sporadic thin strokes of black – smoke from chimneys climbing towards the heavens. I had seen faded out picts of the skies of other worlds. Both on the dataslates of the scholatica librarium, and the dyed sketches of my great-grandmother.

Nothing compared.

By the time we reached the taxicab fields, the smell of the air had changed as well. New and foreign scents were inhaled, and I was, at the time, still unable to explain it. It was just… _refreshing. _

It was at that moment one of my father's eternal maxims kicked in. Observe. Narrow down. Classify… And start small.

I wrenched my gaze from the wondrous azure focusing on the buildings and people we were passing. Men with brown and black coats, some walking with evident haste, others with a lack of it… on cobbled pavements of stone and cement. Brightly painted shops interspersed with lacquered steel workshops and warehouses.

How many floors? At least two, generally five or less. Construction materials? Steel, iron, wood, and um… what _were_ those red blocks? Sculpted stone? Oh wait, they're called bricks. Weird… a few well-off middle hivers used bricks as a form of wall ornamentation, but I've never seen them used to build an entire building.

Realizing that I had probably bit off more then I could chew. I stopped gazing out of the window and tried to process what I had… I struggled, badly.

So… this world didn't have hives. Ergo, it wasn't a hiveworld. That meant less people living there. The presence of pavements and steel meant that they weren't as backward as I feared they were. I sighed in relief. Indoor plumbing was assured. A lot of bricks meant that… that they were cheap here? Or because people here are more well off then the vast majority of middle hivers?

Argh. I returned to staring blissfully at the sky.

Then I realized I could lower the glass using a hand crank below the windowsill. As I did, fresh flavored air rushed into the cabin, calming me considerably.

Wait.

_Narrow down._

Taxicab. Start from the taxicab. Hm… It was a road-wheeler, but different from those I saw in the Hive Redsand. How? My eyes darted around the compartment, trying to ascertain the obvious dissimilarities. Threadbare. Even the seats were only partially padded. Some of the gears for the driving lever were exposed, as were many springs and mechanisms.

We were also going particularly slow, despite how empty the road was. On a hunch, I poked my head outside the window, and took a quick peek at the wheels. Unlike those in the hive, the wheels here were skeletal, and the rubber on them nearly skin-like in their thinness – far thinner than the wheels I was used to. Perhaps that explained the rickety ride.

Having a… simple starting point, I found it was easier to analyze and digest. The technology here was very utilitarian. It was functional, but not much else. If the taxicab was anything to go by, this world would probably have most of the things that Redsand had, only more rudimentary and rarer.

Pleased with myself, I let the remainder of the drive go by without much thought. I was getting hungry.

One thing did have an impression on me though. There were enforcer patrols, on the streets. At least, I thought they were enforcers. They walked the streets, in twos and threes. Every now and then one of them would casually cradle a stubrifle or shotgun in his hands. Normally though, they would only have a holstered pistol of some kind.

Eventually, I tired out. Having learned how to use sleep to stave off hunger, I fell asleep. It wasn't very comfortable, but I had the entire back row to myself.

* * *

><p>I was woken by a shake and a shout. It was Wakefields. He stood standing by the opened door, apparently having paid the driver. We had arrived at Centrali Street.<p>

The Uncle awaits.

Soon we were walking briskly down the pavement. At least, he was. I lagged behind, half carrying, half dragging my heavy and wheel-less luggage box.

I garnered quite a few sympathetic smiles from the people passing by. A friendly man even offered to carry my bags for me. Only to be scared away by Wakefields, who insisted that we weren't looking for hired help.

At least Wakefields carried my luggage afterwards. Which made him fairly grouchy.

I walked jauntily behind him.

The stores here were more… hivelike than the ones I saw before. They were more cramped, and had abundant steel and metal in their construction. Also, it was getting dark, and there was much more people here. The dance of lambent lights and swaying silhouettes were a pale comparison to the business floors of the middle hive, but they were a comparison nonetheless.

Lifted from my burden, I started to realize that many of the passersby were staring at me. To be precise, my hair. Some of the more formally dressed ladies favored me with a disapproving frown.

I would have probably been embarrassed had I not been busy slobbering.

Most of the shops had been restaurants, and the aroma that permeated the street was lavish with the promise of food and beverages. Predictably such smells had awoken my hunger, and it was raising holy hell in my long-suffering tummy.

I asked Wakefields for another hard-bar.

His response: "Be patient missy. We're going to be meeting your uncle any minute now. He'd pay for your dinner, I'd wager." He retorted, before switching the hand carrying my luggage.

Heartless, Throne pinching, miser!

Thank the God-Emperor! About a few minutes later, after an increased frequency of grumbling and grunting, Wakefields exclaimed. "Finale Fooks Diner, Finally!"

He glanced at me, before sniggering at his own joke.

Haha. Root word repetition is humorous!

Pathetic.

Finale Fooks Diner. It wasn't a respectable sounding name, and its appearance didn't disappoint. It looked like the final resting place of an oversized grox-can.

Indeed it was, Cyrus later told me that it used to be a motorhouse, a truck that ferried around a house instead of goods and other stuff. That was, before one of the wheels gave out, and the family it ferried around were too lazy to renew their Mechanicus permit to get a new wheel.

Wait, I'm getting ahead of myself. Back to my first encounter with him.

The Diner was shaped like a large oval, just like a Grox-can, with a bar on one side, and tables on the other.

We entered the Diner, Wakefields checking a piece of paper, muttering.

"Finale Fooks Diner, 38th Centrali Street, next to the Grand Materials shop. The table at the shaded corner." He glanced around, ignoring the hearty greetings from the barman. "Ah that must be him."

Indeed it was. I remember being faintly disappointed. For one, I couldn't see his face from the diner door, even as he sipped his drink, it was covered by a scruffy hat of faded grey fabric, with a long, downward sloping brim. Secondly, he had picked the one table that didn't have a window. I liked window gazing.

Steeling myself, I followed Wakefields as he eagerly approached the lone man.

As we walked up to his table, I couldn't help but feel that he was trying to avoid attention, and the clothes he wore did little to rebuff my suspicions. Even his trench coat looked battered and faded, maximizing his inconspicuous look in the crowd of unwinding workers and employees.

Wakefields roughly dropped my suitcase as he reached the table. "Cyrus Addington, I presume?" He exclaimed as I trailed slightly behind him.

The man continued to nonchalantly sip his drink, which I could now see as recaf. He gently placed the stained mug on the iron table, before solemnly regarding my foppish caretaker.

"Um, you're him right?" said Wakefields.

In response, my uncle turned his head directly to me. "Is she my niece?"

I felt like a ganger on the gibbet. He looked me in the eye, locking in on them with his own glistening green pair. I forced my eyes to stay in place, trying my best to hold his gaze.

After what could have only been a moment or two, he broke eye contact. "Yes, she's Baker's daughter all right." he stated, nodding to Wakefields, whilst beckoning us to sit with a wave of his arms.

"Ah, y-yes." My so-called chaperon stuttered, eagerly scooting in to make room for me on the bench. "I'm Alan Wakefields, here to represent the Redsand Orphanage Federation. We've travelled quite long and far, I must say, but it's a pleasure to meet you regardless."

Gaining steam, his mouth went autopilot. And blabber he did for a few minutes.

"…She might be a bit shy and quiet, but she's a nice girl. It's an honor to be able to deliver her to her new home, no matter how uncomfortable the journey might have been. And… oh! You did say you were a hungry a while back didn't you?"

I nodded in a very unladylike fashion.

"Of course," Cyrus raised his hand, signaling for one of the waiters. "What do you want?"

I was hungry, so I wasn't feeling particularly picky. "I'd have anything so long as they're not hard-bars."

Cyrus grabbed the menu offered by the newly arrived waiter. "Well, how about wet grox noodles?"

Grox. My tummy groaned in anticipation. The last time I had actual grox meat was during the amber festival a year ago! "They have canned grox chips here?"

Overhearing me, the waiter sniffed "_Canned_ grox chips? 'Ell no! We serve the real stuff lassie!"

"You have remoisterized grox meat?!" I half shouted, more in incredulity than anything else. Only the upper hivers got to eat that stuff!

"Remoister-what?" We stared at each other in mutual befuddlement.

A hearty laugh sounded from the table next to us. I turned to see a black uniformed old man who obviously found our predicament funny.

"She's an offworlder Cassie! Stop being so daft!" He teased.

"Shut yer yap Vladsky! Call me daft again and I'll tell me pa bout yer tab!" She snapped back.

"Hey, I'm just a poor old mercenary risking life an limb to guard you! A small tab is all _this _sentinel is asking for." He retorted, before turning back to me. "Point is Cassie, she's probably never had fresh meat in her life." He winked at me. "Trust me, the food here is leagues better than any other world. You'd love it!"

Cassie was staring at me with pity. "Never had fresh meat? At yer age?"

My uncle politely coughed.

"One wet grox noodle bowl and water cup for my niece please." Cyrus said. "Mr. Wakefields, I do believe I have a few letters to sign?"

Cassie gave me one last horrified look before storming to the kitchen, and yelling something to the cook inside.

"Ah yes, did you bring the pict-copies of your identification forms?" Finally put back on track, Wakefields started to guide my uncle through the handover process.

After what was essentially a swap of papers and documents, my uncle deftly filled in the forms.

When it came to the handover statement though, he paused. "It doesn't need her signature?"

"No. The Inheritance Office abolished that requirement years ago," Wakefields said. "Besides, she'd accept it, she knows what's good for her."

My uncle mirrored my frown.

"Well, Winter, before I sign these papers, I want to make sure you know what you're getting into." Cyrus said. "My work often ensures I stay perpetually busy. If you are going to be my charge, I'd expect you to be able – or at least learn to – take care of yourself."

I nodded, mumbling my understanding. I've spent the last 2 years in a boarding school, so I figured it wouldn't be too hard. Emperor's Throne, I knew Wakefields would have a world of hurt for me if I refused.

For a moment, Cyrus looked like he wanted to say more. Instead though, he simply signed the declaration paper.

"It's done," He said. Handing Wakefields the document, which was eagerly accepted.

I peeked a look at it. His signature was an exquisite one, a flourish of stylized letters with a mix of curves and hard angles above an arching underline. Definitely not the signature of a poor layman he was trying to portray.

Despite that, I smiled in mix of relief and trepidation. A new home, a suspicious uncle, but a home and uncle nonetheless.

It was at that moment Cassie barged in with a steaming bowl of noodles in her hand. "Right, where's the poor grubless girl? Cuz I got the good stuff!" She declared.

My smile widened. Now there was something that held no unknowns.

Of course, as I was soon to learn, even sure things could be affected by external factors.

What were those factors? A sudden scream, the chattering sound of gunfire, and most decisively, the symphony of shattering glass and bullet impacts.

Everyone made noises of alarm, but my uncle's voice carried above the din.

"GET DOWN!"

* * *

><p>AN: A special message for any DySyst fans who don't know warhammer 40k at all. I will try (and have been trying) to make this fanfic as reader friendly as possible for the initiated in 40k lore. Most unique words can be extrapolated from the context, if not described outright.<p>

Now a general message: This fanfic is going to be 25k to 50k words long. I've outlined it detail, and I think the results show. PLEASE REVIEW. There's only so much you can understand from watching the visit statistics. So please, tell me of your thoughts and comments. :)


	2. Identity

_**Chapter 2, Identity **_

Trained through years of law enforcement under the Arbites, my voice rings strong and clear. Within a moment, Winter is under the table, having dropped immediately upon hearing my command. She is on her knees with her back bent forward, sheltering her head as well as the base of her neck using her arms and hands. Classic hivequake survival position.

Wakefields, on the other hand, had been slower on the take, and had flattened himself on the bench, his upper body now occupying the place Winter sat just a few moments ago.

_Emperor's throne, why now?_

The Farsightians, used to life far less regimented than the hiveworlds, are in utter disarray. Some had heeded my words, but they were the minority. Most had simply started stampeding out of the exits the moment the shots started to fly.

The results are predictable.

Many of the Diner's patrons are slumped on the tables and floor, blood pouring from bullet wounds or deep gashes caused by still imbedded shards of glass.

_God-Emperor, good thing I intentionally picked the windowless table._

Paranoia, the God-Emperor's gift to Inquisitors, Arbites, and Auditors everywhere. No wonder I have it in spades.

I take in my surroundings.

No scorch marks, only bullet holes. Apart from the shattered glass, nearly none of the bullets had managed to punch through the diner wall.

Solid projectile, high rate of fire, low penetration.

They had been using chatterguns. So it isn't the Mafioso. Too low tech.

The cursing mercenary behind Winter's bench. Black uniform. So it isn't Sentinel Security either, not openly at least.

The Watch? They won't dare. This street is Sentinel turf through and through.

So that left the SS and the Green Faction. Too far away for the SS, no motive either. So it should be the Greens.

The sound of revving road-wheelers and the whine of motorcabs were fading away in the distance, along with the chattering gunfire.

It had been a pass. A sweep and spray by the Green Faction. The Diner's sin was being next to the main road. Good. They weren't gunning for me. Aren'

Winter. Evacuate before people calm down. Before they start asking questions.

"Winter, Wakefields, we've gotta go." They both look at me.

Winter tries to get out from under the table only to be stopped by Wakefields. "Wait, damn it, we're safe where we are." Wakefields states, his head indicating the Sentinel besides us, who was now cautiously peering out of a shattered window frame.

Idiot.

Mob mentality doesn't work that way. Especially armed ones.

"Look," I start, "It's getting dark. The Green Faction isn't known for its good marksmen. It just needs one stray bullet to brain you."

"Listen to the wise guy there!" Bellows the merc, "If those bastards decide to try to loot the Tabernum Centralis downstreet, things will get ugly." He then rushes out of the Diner, autogun in hand.

Upon the Sentinel's exit, I give Wakefields a scathing look. "Want to stick around?"

The man pales, before hastily grabbing the documents and forms I had filled in and stuffing them into his bag. While he does it, I address the waiter who was prone on the floor, having dropped Winter's meal when the shooting started.

"Get us to the back exit."

She looks at me with eyes glazed with panic. She starts stuttering.

"_Cassie_, we need to get out of here NOW. Where are the employee exits?" I reiterate firmly.

"T-this way." She says, running to the kitchen entryway. I grab Winter's suitcase and follow right behind her.

It is a small and cramped kitchen, but at it's back is the exit. With the barman already waiting nervously at the door.

"Cassie, God-Emperor, why did you take so long?" The mustachioed man cries.

"I don't wanna talk about it." She says. "Let's just get the frack out of here."

We part ways with them and hasten away.

Almost automatically, I lead my two companions through the alleyway I had previously scouted out.

I run through the twisting turns and the darkly lit paths, mindful to give anyone following us a hard time.

The alleyway ends at Artery Street, which is still rather too close to the Diner for comfort.

The once peaceful district is now filled with the sound of distant but intense gunfire. So the Greens are trying to storm the Tabernum Centralis after all.

Like animals from a burning forest, the civilians are fleeing from the area around Centrali Street in throngs.

Then I hear honking and shouting, and the masses part before a vehicle. My eyes widen, it is a Tauros Military Terrain-Wheeler.

Worse, there are trucks filled with combat ready men behind it.

Sentinel Security's swift and brutal response.

I curse under my breath. I need to contact Arklight ASAP.

I feel a tug on the edges of my trench coat. It's Winter, she is frowning, eyes steady but worried.

"Where are we going to go, Uncle?" She puffs, still slightly winded.

Ah, yes. Slow down. The attack was just a bad coincidence. They _aren't_ gunning for me. I have time.

I have time.

I point at one of the side-lanes. "This way. Let's get to somewhere safe."

* * *

><p>I greedily tore the wrapper and munched on the hard bar underneath.<p>

It tasted like condensed salty _something_.

Yet, despite it's dubious qualities, it was the second of its kind that I had assaulted in the last few minutes.

Its dutiful compatriot was already crunched, munched, and gulped, and was slowly being digested in my stomach.

For once, I felt thankful to Wakefields.

Apparently finally taking pity at my foodless plight (Or realizing he hated hard bars), he had handed three of them to me shortly before we parted ways at the Taxicab station.

He'd given the throne chips containing our inheritance shares to Cyrus.

Cyrus had stated that finding a chip scanner was a pain on this world.

We were now briskly walking down yet another road.

It was far away enough from Centrali Street that running away was no longer anyone's top priority.

So, as the pedestrians around me were aptly demonstrating, people had switched to the next thing on their priority list.

Namely, staring and gawping at my hair.

Oh, and gossiping afterward.

"My goodness, that juvie must be going through so much stress!"

"Well, you know what the schola puts them through nowadays."

I inwardly groaned. I think Cyrus snickered.

No wonder they decided to make schola tougher.

"Winter, let's stop by that shop." I looked to where he was pointing. It was a hat shop.

A pretty one at that.

A two-storied house-shop. Made from white painted bricks, it had a single large display window that presented many different and enticing caps, hats, and bonnets.

It was a shame it was already dark, as rays of light would have made it much more appealing.

Well, it's been a few months since the last time I did any shopping.

It should be fun.

* * *

><p>"Marco darling! She's telling the truth! Look, her hair is grey right to the base!" Comes the thoroughly fascinated yell from the shopkeeper.<p>

I manage to keep a straight face. The shopkeeper's husband doesn't.

Winter, on the other hand, is too busy trying (and failing) to fend off the accosting old lady.

She is headlocked. By a nearly toothless granny. One complete with an old-style cloth bonnet.

I have to admit it was amusing.

Winter sighs gloomily, obviously caught between her desire to forcefully free herself and her fear of hurting the shopkeeper in the process.

The shopkeeper though, has had her eyeful of my charge's hair and relinquishes her.

"Young darling, I must say its been _ages_ since we last had an offworlder visit us! Oh, I have so many things that would fit perfectly for you!" She startes to go through her shop, "Marco! Get the feathered hats from Doversatz!"

I step in. "My apologies madame, but I'm afraid we're in quite a hurry. I was only looking for a Gatsby for her."

She glares at me, aghast. "A Gatsby? Her natural hair color would be wasted on one of them, absolutely wasted I tell you!"

"Here darling, how about this feathered hat from Doversatz? Look, its blue fabric and white and lilac feathers would make you look like a proper princess."

Winter is blushing and stammering.

I frown. This could snowball badly. Telling Winter to shop while I rested my hands had been a bad idea after all.

Ten minutes later, we exit the shop. Winter is now wearing the Doversatz hat that the lady had been so keen to offer to her. She looks embarrassedly pleased.

Considering that she is wearing travelling clothes, the hat seems to be ill matching. Nonetheless, it does look good on her.

Her Gatsby is in one of the many pockets of my trench coat.

I smile, that enthusiastic shopkeeper had been all too happy to see Winter leaving with the Doversatz. I had pleaded that she needed to get back home to unpack.

Now though, I am back to lugging her suitcase. Good thing we are nearly to the apartment.

I check my pocket chrono.

7 pm. Late enough, but the Voxhub doesn't close until 12am.

Winter is tired, but this is a pressing concern.

After all, the faster she knows, the better. I have already resolved to tell her about her new life at the fastest convenience.

Well, better bring her to the voxhub. I'll tell her afterwards.

After dinner of course.

* * *

><p>"Winter, go ahead and take a quick restroom break. Hang your hat at the hanger pole over there. We're leaving again in 15 minutes."<p>

"Isn't it already dark?"

"This is twilight season. It gets dark three hours faster then normal." Cyrus rubbed his midriff, "Besides, I need to eat, and I doubt you're happy with hard-bars."

The mere intonation of real food was enough to gain my stomach's vote. "Well, ok."

I finished up my bladder obligations with enough time to spare to take a quick look at my uncle's apartment.

It was a modest but cozy home. With a single small bedroom and a living room that also served as the kitchen and dining room.

"I'll be sleeping on the recliner there." Cyrus pointed to the comfy, if a bit weathered, looking piece of furniture. "You'll get the room."

"Well, let's go, and Winter, try on the Gatsby. It might not 'highlight your hair and face' as much as the Doversatz, but it's comfy." I felt mildly embarrassed as he quoted the shopkeeper.

I put on the Gatsby. As suspected, it covered most of my hair.

We left his apartment and went down a single flight of stairs. From there he quickly hired what he called a pedalcab, a peculiar hybrid between a bike and couch.

He was right, even though it had been dark for ages, many people still walked down the alleyways, or chatted away in the many restos and recaff shops.

Weird. It was like nothing happened just a few hours ago.

Then again, I realized they were always walking in groups.

We reached the voxhub building in about ten minutes. Cyrus went up to the receptionist, paid the fare, and took his number.

It was similar to the voxhubs at Hive Redsand, only much smaller. The voxhub was a two-story, rectangular brick building.

Apart from the row of receptionist's desks in front, the rest of the building was fully dedicated to the housing of the voxcasters and the seating of those in line for them.

Each voxcaster was put inside a booth, and the booths were placed in the center of each floor, with waiting areas around each one of them.

"Floor 1, booth H, number 116. Must've been a busy day." Cyrus remarked. "There, that's waiting area 1H."

We were soon sitting. I looked at the blue painted voxbooth in front of us. At the top of its entrance was a large capital "H". Next to it was a mechanical card counter.

It read "114".

We waited silently.

There seemed to be a lot of women and families in the waiting areas.

I glanced back at the booth; it was made from wood. Well, that's a change. Never thought I'd see wood used for such a mundane object.

Well, come to think of it, lots of the furniture I've seen lately has been made of wood. Guess I got used to it by the time I realized it.

"It's our turn." We walked to the booth. "Winter, stay by the door will you?"

So waited again I did. I yawned. It really had been a tiring day. I wondered if uncle Cyrus would enroll me into a local schola. Hopefully it would be an adept training schola like Flavius was. Maybe I'd even get to use my old jet-black uniform.

Uncle was from the Administratum after all.

Was he?

My thoughts lazily drifted towards my uncle's actions during the shootout. The speed of his reaction.

Also, his voice. The timbre, the tone. It had been powerful. One that did not accept rebuke.

I realized that his voice was similarly, if not more so, commanding as my instructors at home.

It was a voice that downright expected to be obeyed. Immediately.

_Wait, Redsand isn't home anymore. Home is here. With him._

That though derailed me. Unasked questions cascaded through my mind.

_How shall he raise me?_

_Does he care about me?_

_Would I be considered a burden?_

_What does he expect of me?_

_What will my chores be?_

I frowned. Why was I asking so many questions?

Because I needed to know.

My father had always taught me to be aware and logical. My mother taught me to be dutiful and devoted.

"_To know your place, Winter, is to know your duty and excel at it. That is the fulfillment of faith." _She said.

"_And how do you excel? Read, Winter. Read the situation, read the motivations of those around you, and read between the lines of text and speech." _He would pipe up.

Of course, mother and father would bicker after that.

Just like they bickered every time I went home during the holidays.

_Funny, _I thought, _they always bickered when it was about me. They even bickered on that train ride._

_The final train ride._

I felt tears on my cheeks.

I bit back the sobs. It had become a habit. Wakefields never liked it.

Especially when I woke him up.

I heard the creak of the door behind me. "Thanks for waiting, let's eat." Came Cyrus's voice behind me.

I looked back. There he was, looming above me.

"Win-" He saw my face.

There was a moment of pause between us.

He looked into my eyes, and I felt his understanding.

He gave me a sympathetic frown of mutual sorrow, before one of his hands dug into his trench coat – producing a small handkerchief.

I gratefully took it.

He placed his arm on my shoulders, and I leaned slightly into his trench coat.

He led me out of the voxhub and across the street. We entered a yellow tiled building.

Feeling a bit calmer, I wiped my tears. Looking around, I saw that we were in a cafeteria of sorts.

People sat around cream-colored round tables, drinking hot beverages while they talked and joked.

"Sit here. I'll get our meals." He ruffled my hair before he walked away.

I felt consoled. In more ways then one.

In no time at all, he was back.

Two bowls of wet grox noodles. I smiled, and then, in a bout of sudden fear, eyed my surroundings.

We were at the very edge of the cafeteria. Seated at the corner. As far from the main road as we could be.

My smile came back, wider this time.

I started eating.

To say it was good was an understatement.

It was a rush of taste and texture. I felt my teeth clomping down on the delicious meatballs and noodles.

Unlike the hard bars, chewing the food did not feel like a struggle, I did not have to systematically crush and scrape the substance with my teeth.

This meal practically melted in my mouth.

I ate and I ate. I really didn't realize how hungry I was until then.

When my fork failed to fish anything out of the murky depths of the bowl, I bought it up to my mouth and started to gulp down the slightly salty mix of liquids.

When I bought the bowl down, I was confronted by the grinning visage of my uncle.

"Want bread with that?" He said, an eyebrow arcing questioningly.

"Um…" I clutched my waist; it still felt a bit empty.

"Give me a sec then." He pushed a mug to my side of the table. "Drink some of this, you'll need it."

As he walked back to the cafeteria counter, I looked at contents of the mug.

Recaff.

Pitch-black recaff, with small pieces of shrivelled leaves floating at the top.

I had recaff before. Though never one as dark as this.

A small voice in my mind whispered that the darker it looked, the stronger the kick would be.

I still drank it. It was hot but not scalding. Must have cooled down a bit while I was busy stuffing myself.

Also bitter. Very bitter. My tongue recoiled.

But as the recaff slid down my throat, I felt relief and warmth. I could feel the dryness ebb away.

Encouraged, I drank more.

When Cyrus came back, with a glossy half round piece of bread, I was halfway through my drink.

The bread was equally nice, but I was able to eat it in a more dignified fashion.

Cyrus went back to eating his bowl of grox noodles.

There was still quite a lot left.

I ate slowly, trying to finish the same time as him.

Now that we were actually staying still for once (And I wasn't being assaulted by an old lady), I found myself studying his features.

Like father, his hair was a crisply combed crop of dirty blonde, somewhere between blonde and brown.

His features were also similar, if somewhat more youthful. A sharp but proportionate nose, a faintly weathered face structured precisely and slightly narrow, adorned with a stubble.

He finished eating and moved his bowl aside. I took the last bite of the sugary and sweet bread, before neutralizing it with the last of my bitter recaff.

"Winter." His hands were clasping each other. "I think its time that you get a better understanding of what your future family life is going to be like."

I really didn't know what to say. I decided to take a book from mother and plastered a small, hopeful smile on my face.

Cyrus cleared his throat. "This will in large be effected by my profession."

Another moment of silence. I realized he was waiting for me to speak.

"You mean your job in the Administratum?"

"Not quite..." He pulled out a badge from his trench coat.

I looked at the silver badge in rising confusion.

Upon it was an emblem of a balanced scale, the symbol of the Adeptus Arbites, but instead of the expected icon of an iron gauntlet in circle at the center of the scales, there was instead the etched sign of the Administratum.

"You… work for the Adeptus Arbites?"

"No. Winter, what you see before you is my badge of office, as well as the symbol of my organization as a whole."

He paused for emphasis.

"That organization is the Officio Mediatorum. I am its herald, and indeed Herald is also my title. Our duty is the prevention of circumstance that could render local governments unable to pay their rightful tithes and tribute to the Imperium of Man."

His words provoked a memory of one of my father's rants.

"You mean… intervening with the planetary government?"

His smile became predatory "Correct."

"But…" I struggled for words, trying to dredge up memories from half forgotten conversations.

"But I thought that the Imperium never intervenes in a planetary government unless they _fail_ to pay their tithes… or you know, try to secede from the Imperium or go heretical."

"That used to be the case, and is indeed the case most of the time. You will learn the details later." He then took out a smaller copper badge with the same symbol of office. "What I do want to cover tonight are your future duties, since you shall be my shadow."

"Open your palm, good, now keep that badge hidden – we're undercover at the moment."

Staring listlessly at the object he placed on my hand, I could only muster a hesitant nod.

"The Officio Mediatorum is still a small and relatively new institution. So there aren't any formal training areas for our Officio yet… and I'm currently taking care of an ongoing mediation myself. So you're going to have to tag along while I do it."

"Consider it a learning experience."

"Um… what will you have me do?" Horrifying images of shootouts, hand-to-hand fighting, and public speaking blazed through my mind.

"I already have a stack of instructional dataslates in my apartment. Don't worry too much, I'll teach you to walk before I order you to run. Your formal training as a Herald's Shadow starts tomorrow after lunch."

Nodding in relief, I finally whipped out a comeback worthy of a former student of Flavius Boarding Scholatica.

"So… I'm going to be a shadow?" Flavius never had the highest standards.

"Yes, you would be called Shadow Harrison on the job. Though as your mentor I reserve the right to call you whatever I please." He stood up from his seat.

"I think it's time for us to go home." I followed slowly behind him; my mind clouded with thoughts of what was to come.

Ten minutes later, well on the way home on the passenger seat of another pedalcab, he asked me a question.

"Winter, you went to a boarding schola, didn't you?"

Distracted from my aimless street gazing, it took me a moment to answer.

"Yes, Flavius Boarding Scholatica."

"What did you learn there?"

"It was an adept school… I learned to read and write, fast typing, cogitator operating."

He arched his eyebrow, "I can't imagine your old man agreeing with that."

A faint smile formed on my face, I remembered father's disagreement all too well. "He wasn't happy with it, but the enforcer academies didn't really have the cleanest record either." I shrugged.

"Scandals?"

"Among other things."

Cyrus stroked the stubble on his chin. He didn't continue the conversation.

We soon arrived at the apartment complex. Upon arriving at my uncle's abode, I took my pajamas from my suitcase. A quick shower later I was on the small bed, eyes wide awake despite my obvious fatigue.

The knock on the bedroom door caught me just as I was going to recite a lullaby to myself. I jumped out of bed to answer it.

"Winter, here, drink this sleeping pill. That mug of recaff you had earlier was a strong one." Cyrus saw my barely opened suitcase. "You can just do your unpacking tomorrow. I have some business to do this morning, so don't be worried if you can't find me when you wake up."

"Ok."

The pill did its job.

Less then a half hour later, I was sound asleep.

* * *

><p>AN: Ok, I hope you enjoy the read. More coming within the month. Unless it hasn't become clear yet, one of the goals of this fic is to present the 40k universe in a less militant perspective then most 40k fan fiction and literature, with Winter Harrison being a former civilian. So don't expect a ton of combat or fight scenes (though there will be some).

Also, If you ever want to write a fanfic, but find out that doesn't have either the story category (Ex: "Naruto" isn't in the anime/manga category) or the character (Ex: You want to make a pairing between 2 characters, but 1 of them isn't listed), then just click the "Help" button at the very bottom of each webpage. It tell you how to request the admin to add them. All 4 characters listed on this fic didn't exist before I requested the admin to add it. The admin is VERY responsive and will usually add the new characters or story categories within 2 days.


	3. A Whole New World

_Aaaaaaand its out! *Yells in triumph* This chapter has been particularly problematic, mostly __because a accidentally lost a third of it and so had to rewrite it. Now that its out though, ENJOY! :D_

* * *

><p><em><strong>Chapter 3,<strong>_

_**A Whole New World**_

_When we returned back to apartments, Uncle Cyrus gave me sleeping pills. I think he wanted me to be awake and aware when he told me about his office, his position, and my own future purpose._

_ I fell asleep not long after drinking it._

I gaze at my diary entry, and at the frindle next to it. Sighing, I lean into the comfy recliner. Writing that diary entry is allowing me to finally organize all the messy thoughts and emotions that have been flying around in my head.

Which is good. Because I have a lot to do before Cyrus comes back.

I lean forcefully back into my chair, doing a quick stretch before strutting back to my room.

My suitcase is still partially unpacked. I had stopped the moment I found my diary book and frindle. I place them on my bed before going back to unpacking.

It takes me some time to unpack, I don't have many personal belongings, but I had tried to take anything of use during the short few hours I was allowed to stay at my parent's hab-unit.

About an hour later, I finish. Now my suitcase is empty, and is placed beneath my bed. On the bed is a pile of clothes, still folded. Most of it is mundane, a mix of coveralls, jeans, and tunics, with the occasional blouse. There are a few exceptions though, namely my jet black schola robes, and the gloriously white long sleeved coat. I remember using it during the maintenance weeks of the hive heater vents.

Next to it is my undergarments. Plain white. All of them.

What is surprising though, is the amount of paraphernalia I'd apparently packed. A stack of dataslates now resides on the small desk. Most of them were father's, instructional dataslates on law enforcement and the like. I was planning to sell them.

There are also two other leather bound books, both journals of my parents. Next to it is my mother's rusted and modest makeup tin, along with a small mirror of reflective metal.

A forlornly small amount of canvasses were kept at the far corner of the room – the dyed paintings of my grandmother.

Lastly, there was father's personal nightstick, next to the pillow.

I sit on the bed, wondering what I should do next.

_Well, maybe I should go through the dataslates, find out which ones I should sell and which ones I'll keep. It should fetch a heftier price on this agri-world then at Hive Redsand, give me a bit of money to spend until Uncle could find those chip scanners._

_ Or I could read the dataslate he left on the table. Yup, better do that._

A few moments later, I am back at my comfy sanctuary on the lounger. The thick and rectangular dataslate is in my hand. It was still off, as I have not recited the proper prayers. It was a baseline dataslate, one that could only be used for reading, but not writing. Back in Flavius, we called them V-Types, as it was only for 'viewing'.

Nonetheless, it still deserved veneration, for it possessed a machine-spirit. I start my prayer, one of the very first taught to us adepts-in-training.

"O honored Machine Spirit, awaken. Awaken before this Servant, and let us fulfill our duties to Humanity." I respectfully intone.

As I finish the Supplication of Awakening, my thumb presses down at the button engraved with the circle and line, the rune of activation.

The monitor comes alive with visual static, before suddenly flickering off. I smile patiently, used to this occurrence. After reorienting itself from its slumber, the machine spirit manifests once more, and the display blinks back on, this time steady and collected.

The display blackground is greenish, indicating that the dataslate is of good quality. I am directly presented to the main interface panel. Below the slightly less green picture of the Aquila, there was only one datafile.

_**=The Adeptus Terra – Summary=**_

The Adeptus Terra? I quickly skim through the document.

Well, it seems readable. Much more so then the instructional datafiles I had to read back at Flavius. The names of numerous adeptus filter through my mind. Most are recognizable, including the Adeptus Arbites and Administratum, but I confess that apart from those two, I really know next to nothing about all the other adeptus, apart from general knowledge.

I start reading the document, quickly finding out that it wasn't just a summary, it was something more. Intrigued, I became more intent on it.

_**The Administratum**_

_The Administratum is the bureaucratic hand of the Adeptus Terra. It's leader, aptly named the "Master of the Administratum", has a permanent seat in the Senatorium Imperialis, or as it is more commonly known, the High Lords of Terra._

_ Throughout the holy dominion of the God-Emperor, veritable masses of adepts toil and serve, in the tens of trillions, all under the etched symbol of the Administratum. Through their vigilant and tireless endeavors, countless reports, records, and forms are recorded, sorted and filed. _

_Its most important responsibilities include the measuring, and later ensuring, the flow of Tithes and Tribute from more than a million planets; The regulation and recording of voidspace trade and transactions; And the control of the supply lines for both food, war materiel, and all other common products vital to the Imperium of Man._

_ To say that the task of the Administratum is monumental and endless would not be an understatement. In turn though, with it's great responsibilities, comes great power. The Administratum has the right to reject any planetary governor, should it feel that he has failed to fulfill his or her obligations. With its influence over both the supply and trade lanes, the power it wields cannot be understated. The fact that it directly governs (i.e: directly appoints the planetary governor) many Agri and Mining worlds only seems to further underscore its importance. Some Imperial scholars have gone so far as to claim that the Administratum itself is the most powerful Adeptus in the Adeptus Terra. For example, Vorleuz Cant, honoured Professor Primaris of Centauri Universariate once stated:_

"The Administratum is the master puppeteer of the Imperium. True, it is often clumsy and forgetful, and the other Adeptus might chafe and rage at the strings attached to them, but should those strings be cut, they shall fall limp and crumble."

_This quote humorously points out not just how vital the Administratum is, but also the general air of suspicion and distrust other Adeptus view it in. It must also be remembered that it is the Administratum, not the Imperial Guard, which commands the elite military formations of the Tempestus Scions (also colloquially known as the Stormtroopers). _

_ There are, however, limitations and weaknesses inherit within the Administratum. In fact, the previous quote has already alluded to it. "Clumsy and Forgetful". What? Why? Because no matter how potent the Administratum is, in the end of the day, it is still the bureaucratic arm of the Adeptus Terra. Its greatest strength as well as its worst downfall, the Admini…_

* * *

><p>"So, did you enjoy reading the dataslate?" I ask, directing a calm smile at the obviously uncomfortable Winter.<p>

"I… Well, I read it." She mumbles, her eyes pointedly staring at floor.

"Well, so what do you think about it?" I reword my question. No eye contact is a red flag.

"Well, well… it was inter- it was different…" She mumbles something. I hope it wasn't the word 'heretical'. Changing that type of perspective would be tough.

I decide to kick the word out of her.

"Different? Winter, I know they teach diction and vocab classes in adept scholas, and so far I fail to see its impact in this conversation."

Technically, a glare does count as eye contact.

"So, was it 'illuminating'?"

"Well, I guess, but -" She breaks eye contact again.

"Boring?"

"No, it's, it's kind of –"

"Provocative and dangerous?"

"Yes! Exact – Uh, I mean, Uncle, I don't mean to imply anything." She looks up from the floor, her face clearly telegraphing her inner conflict. "I'm just not sure the Arbites would appreciate this type of writing." She finishes mutely.

Ah, so she was worried about _me_. Hadn't expected her to think that far. She must have been trying to approach the subject delicately.

Conflict management, she needs work on that. Promising enough though.

"Don't worry Winter, I'm not a heretic nor a recidivist." I say, grinning.

"That's not the problem Uncle…" She says, slowly articulating her words. "I mean, Father used to talk to me about the problems in the Imperium all the time, but having it on a dataslate?" She gingerly waves the dataslate I had assigned her to read. "This could lead to trouble."

Wait, Baker expressed anti-Imperial sentiments? For the first time in the conversation I feel concern.

"What did he tell you?" I voice the question nonchalantly, keeping my calm to bolster Winter's.

"I'm not supposed to tell people about it."

"Winter, I doubt my brother is a provocateur, but still, it'll be nice to know what exactly he told you about. I am your guardian after all."

She is silent, and I stay silent as well. I am about to change the topic when she finally opens up.

"Well… he had all these stories about how corrupt the Hive Oligarchy was, and how each district council was being slowly filled by representatives who supported it."

I smile, insinuating our shared blood had done its trick.

"He hated the fact that the enforcer cadres couldn't do anything to stop the rot. He told me about how he once participated in an Arbites anti-smuggling campaign, out of the twenty-five warehouses they raided, more then half were under the guard of the local enforcers."

"Your Father, he was under one of the Arbites Auxiliary units, correct?"

"Yes, it was an enforcer unit directly supervised by the Adeptus Arbites. That's why he liked working there – the Arbitrators kept it clean. At the same time though, he disliked how… _apolitical_ the Arbites were."

"Baker disliked the Arbites policy of non-intervention?"

"Well, y-yes. The Arbitrators only cared if you were breaking the Imperial Law, so the Oligarchy could do whatever it wanted so long as they made sure that they only meddled with the planetary government. Father always said by the time the Oligarchy started to mess with the Imperium, entire purges would be needed to cleanse the rot. At least."

I nod. "Yes, sadly, the _Dictates Imperialis_ does not consider corruption or political murder within the confines of the planetary government to be a crime against the Imperium. Do you agree with him? That sometimes the Imperium is geared to intervene too late?"

She bobs her head slightly.

"Then you've been blessed by the Emperor. Proactive intervention is exactly what the Mediatorum is all about." She eyes me cautiously, still unsure. "Winter, open that datafile again, and scroll to the bottom of the script."

She does so. "Do you see the symbol that comes before the Aquila?"

"Yes, I was wondering what it was."

"Do you understand the motto it bears?"

"_Tenetes Sanctum Lucis_?" Her lips crease into a frown. "Something about 'the holy light'"

"Holding The Holy Light, _Tenetes Sanctum Lucis_. That motto, and the symbol above it, of a robed figure holding a glowing globe on his left hand, and a gilded sword embalmed in scrolls in his right, whose is it?"

She shrugged.

I lean forward to emphasize what I'm going to say next. "This is the emblem of the Saint Lomarian Universariate. It's a renown learning institution, and is attended by the children of high ranked individuals within the Imperial Hierarchy. Including the sons and daughters of prominent nobles, Planetary Governors, or even Lords." I point at the dataslate "What you just read was a preface to their class on the Imperial Government and Politics."

Her eyes go wide. She glances at the dataslate on the table.

"Quite a step forward from an adept boarding schola, isn't it?"

"Sure is."

I clasp my hands, and establish eye contact with her. She holds it. "Times have changed Winter, both for you and the Imperium. Hell, even the galaxy. As an Adept, you were expected to serve in ignorance, unburdened by the complexity of the bigger picture. You were to have a small focus, and be good at it."

"As a Shadow though, you are to understand politics, understand culture and its influence, understand cause and effect. You must be ready for the present, be prepared for future, and learn the impacts of the past… all this in a planetary, or even sectorial, scale."

I cough. "By the way, you're still expected to be good at it."

She scoffs, I laugh.

"You're promising, you know." I add.

"Thanks for the boost."

"I mean it. You come from a unique family under unique circumstances. You're mother was an adept, your father part of the local law enforcement, but interacted regularly with Imperial officials. You might have been sent to an Adept schola, but I'll eat my shoe if Baker didn't try to hammer his perspective of life into you. You're much more inquisitive and flexible than half the people I meet."

At this she smiles. "I guess that's true."

"It is. Now let's get back to the topic. What was the most common aspect within the Adeptus Terra that caused the most inter-adeptus conflict?"

"Sometimes their responsibilities aren't clear, and they have a lot of secondary responsibilities that are… well, circumstantial, and it clashes with the primary responsibilities of others."

"Good answer. Yes, the biggest cause of problems within the Adeptus Terra is overlapping areas of jurisdiction. Do you know what jurisdiction is?"

"To have authority over something."

"Correct, and the reason why they continue to function is because they are dependent on each other. Interdependency. Now lets go through each of the Adeptus and discuss them…"

* * *

><p>"Oh hello! Why aren't ya a looker, young lady!" Says the barista behind the counter. "Waddya want, some recaff black-o or r-tea greenie?"<p>

I walk forward, trying to keep my face from crunching up. I currently feel socially constipated.

I mean, seriously? _Good job Winter, you grasp the basics. Now go downstairs and find out more about the current events._ So I understood the gist of the datafile, therefor I must be able to interview people? How in the warp did that logic work?

"I'm not sure… what's the common buy?" I say, keeping my Uncle's words of wisdom as close to me as possible.

_First, realize that you stand out. You look like a foreigner, so don't try to hide it, it'll look suspicious. If they think you're hiding something from them, people tend not to want to tell you much either. Nor do you flaunt it; just simply acknowledge that you're different._

_ Try to portray yourself in a way that will make them want to tell you things. You'll figure it out. If you fail with that crowd, there's another recaff shop two blocks away._

"Ah, new to here, are ya?" Says the barista. "You good with recaffs?"

"Yes to both, but I've always stuck with light recaffs." I say after giving it a moment of thought.

"Sweet, bitter, or sour?"

"Just sweet, usually." I sit myself on one of the high stools at the mini-bar.

At that, she immediately pours hot water into a cylindrical container, and then tips a pitcher filled with rich brown liquid into it. "If that's so, I'll fix up a Mild-Brownie for ya."

She stirs the water in the container furiously, and less then a half-minute later, my cup of 'mild-brownie' is served.

I sip it. The warm liquid was sweet and had the slightest hint of bitterness, along with a weird but invigorating foreign taste.

"Excuse me, but what's in this?"

One of her eyebrows rises. "The usual stuff you put in an M-Brownie."

"Well, I know there's sugar since its sweet, and recaff since its bitter, but there's something else that really makes this feel rich and grainy."

"That's the gruns that you're describing there!" She says, tilting her head. "You know, gruns!"

I shake my head.

"Wow, you really are clueless are ya?" She whistles. "Where d'ya come from? The Outer Islands?"

"Actually, I'm an off-worlder." I admit apologetically.

She gasps, quickly covering her mouth. "So that hair ya have, it's – "

"Totally natural, bequeathed by the God-Emperor." I joke, fast becoming used to the fascination my hair commanded.

"Ah, and here I thought, 'What a queer youngster, dyeing her hair to look older'." Her head turns to away from me. "Wavy! Come here, we've got an off-worlder!"

"Really!? Cannae see her?" Turning my head to the source of the exclamation, I see a brown haired girl. Bespectacled but clearly my age, she stopped right in front of me, eying me in wonder.

"Hi, my name is Winter." I greet, hastily giving her a small bow.

"Oh," She hesitates for some reason, before suddenly stepping forward and catching me in a light embrace. "My naeme is Waverly, but ya can call me Wavy."

"Oh… ok." I say, not really sure how to react. I'm pretty sure I'm blushing now.

The barista laughed merrily, "Wavy, you remember what old Luskins said about culture and all that?"

"Huh?" Waverly covers her mouth so fast it almost sounds like a slap. "Oh! Oh, I'm so sorry, I fergot all about tha different way people greet each other." She looks extremely embarrassed.

"It's no problem. Its not everyday an off-worlder drops in. Doesn't give a lot of practice material, doesn't it?" I sooth, wondering how I'd steer this towards the problems Uncle wanted me to research.

"Aye, no kidding bout that. Luskins is pretty much tha only one that ever comes here, and its been weeks since he last stopped over." She finally takes a seat next to me. "Say, the world you come from, what's it like?"

"Hope you don't mind Wavy's questions dearie, she just moved in here from the countryside a few months ago. Everything's a fascination for her."

A gruff male voice interrupted me before I could answer. "Yeah, ya've got that right, it's not right ta be so warm an friendly ta tha very people tha got us in this miserable hole ta begin with."

"Derek, come on! No politics here! Can't you see she's barely older than Wavy?" Chided the barista, as the unfriendly male took a high stool two spaces away from me, not bothering to introduce himself.

"It's not just politics Millie. Not when it's pushed so much farmers inta landlessness and forced em ta live in _cesspits_ like this." He gestures at Waverly. "Wavy's lucky, an ya know it, she doesnae' have ta work in any of the mills or foundries like some of my nieces do."

"That's not tha point. I know Erika's sick an all, but that's no reason ta dump it all on Winter here." Millie retorts, for some reason thickening her accent.

"Oh, there's a reason alright!" Derek yells, throwing a glare at me.

"Lassie, why are yer parents here?" He asks, a sneer forming on his weathered face.

"I'm – I'm here with my uncle." I answered, not wanting to talk about my parents.

"Derek…"

"What's he doing here?" He ploughs on, uncaring of Millie's warning.

"He's with the Administratum." I reply with the first thing that comes into mind.

"Ha!" Derek points an accusing finger at me. "Administratum! Half of Farsight is starving cuz of bastards like yer uncle, you know that? Why don't you tell him to get his thieving arse off our backs, eh?"

"DEREK! That's enough! Shut yer yap or get out!" Millie shouted, slamming down a tankard like a gavel.

"Fine, I'll drink somewhere else." He gets up to leave, but stops short of the door. "Lassie, why are ya with yer uncle? Are yer parents too busy shopping at Gabrea City?"

"My parents are dead."

I don't want to look at him, so I just stare at the floor. I hear the slamming of the door not much later though.

What I feel next is a hug, tighter this time. It is Waverly, who had been silent for must of the exchange. I could see the droplet of tears forming on the tip of her closed eyes. I awkwardly return the gesture.

"Sorry about that, Derek used to be really nice, but he's under a lot of pressure right now." Millie says, her accent now much lighter.

"It's alright, I'm with my uncle now anyway. So everything's fine." I reply, "Um, actually, I was wondering what was wrong here. I mean, yesterday, the diner we were eating in got shot up by someone."

"Wait, you were there? At Centrali Street?" Waverly said, relinquishing her embrace.

I nod, giving Millie a start.

"Well I'll be damned, all the vox-networks have been shush about that incident. What happened?"

I relate what happened at the Finale Fooks Diner to them. The adoption process, the shooting, and the rush to get away. I was careful sideline what uncle had done. He was supposed to be an adept after all.

When I finish, Millie leans back on one of the shelves, whistling. "What rotten luck, first day here and ya get shot up."

"Sure is, who were they, anyway?"

"The shooters? Green faction. Must be them." She fills herself a drink.

"They're outlaws who used ta be farmers." Waverly adds.

"Farsight is going through a lot of changes right now." Millie continues. "My grandmother used to tell me stories of how Farsight was before all the manufactoriums and mills went up. We were simply an Agri-world."

"The manufactoriums changed that though. Now, you'd need a lot of land if you want to make a living off farming, and none of our household crafts can sell if the manufactoriums could produce the same thing at half the price." She takes another gulp "We adapted of course, my mother moved here shortly after I was born, she was lucky enough to get a job as a shop clerk. Not a lot of people are that lucky though, including Derek and his family."

"The Green Faction is made from ex-farmers who don't want to adapt. They blame the government and the Industrial magnates for what's going on right now, and terrorize us townies and city-goers." She sighs, before taking another chug. "Never thought the conflict would spread to here, to be honest. I mean, compared to most Forge-cities, this town is pretty well off. We even have enough money to have Sentinel Security under our payroll."

"Sentinel Security? Are they the guys with black uniforms?"

"Yeah, that's them. They're a mixed bunch, but you have to admit they're proper professionals. Unlike the Watch." She glances at the Chrono on the wall. "You know, it's almost dinner time. Why don't you invite your uncle to have dinner here, I'll give ya a discount."

"Oh, that's a great idea! Ya still have so much to tell me!" Says an eager Waverly. "If ya want I could give ya a tour around town afterwards!"

"God-Emperor, it's already dark Wavy! Give it to her tomorrow." Chides Millie.

I smile before leaving the shop. "I'll tell uncle about it."

Walking up the stairs to our apartment, I couldn't help but feel happy.

Things are looking up.

Lets hope it lasts.

* * *

><p><strong>AN<strong>: A lot of dialogue in this chapter. What do you think about it? Huge thanks to everyone that reviewed!

Review Responses:

**Heir of the Void**: You pretty much nailed what the Mediatorum does. I assure you that its role shall be further fleshed out as this series progresses.  
><strong>Zrye: <strong>I'm going to assume that you meant DySyst in your comment, since 40k's fan fiction stage is thriving. I'm pretty happy that this is the first Dysyst crossover in . Here's to hoping that its fandom expands! :D

**Notyouraveragejo: **Thanks! Hope you enjoyed this chapter. :)


	4. Discoveries

_Well, new chapter is out! Its a lot longer than my usual chapters, so I hope you enjoy it! :)_

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 4, <strong>_**Discoveries**_

_Still no clues._ I shuffle through the documents and dataslates I've managed to get my hands on. _Where could she be? I know she can't be dead, but how did they manage to smuggle her away? Both the Manuels and the government security forces wanted her dead. The spaceport was locked down for months after it happened. _

I glance back at the ship manifests my team and I managed to collect. They were all on the living room table. Checked and combed though thrice. I sigh, leaning back into the lounger, causing its gears to click as I push my shoulders back. The dataslates next to them contained the files of the people serving in the SS contingent that locked down the spaceport landing fields. They were all long-time Felendir loyalists, or people clearly under the payroll of the Manuels.

_Might she still be here? _I wonder, as I start sipping my recaff. _No, can't be. It's been twelve years. Even if a rebellious nobleman sheltered her, they wouldn't have waited that this long to make their move. Every day King Felendir sits on the throne would be another day for him to gain legitimacy, cement his alliances, and to remove his enemies. Now the powers of the nobles are waning, as their serfs all move to Saint Gabrea and other Forge cities. Their influence flowing out of their hands and into the forges and smelters of the Industrialists._

_ In fact, some have tried to revolt. All crushed by the PDF and the Mafia. Why hasn't anyone unveiled her? Prop her up as a rallying figurehead, a banner of legitimacy to be used and exploited. Yet none have done so, and as a result their uprisings were only short-lived and isolated affairs._

_No, she's offworld. There's no other explanation. But how did she slip through? _

Rubbing my chin, I finally concede that unless Arklight managed to find new clues, we were in a dead end.

I sigh once more. Then I decide to check whether or not Winter was still at Millie's recaff shop. Walking towards the curtained windows, I take a peek downstairs. The view that the window afforded me was enough to see the entire shop, and everyone inside it. There are a few patrons right now, and Millie is busy cooking something. No Winter or Waverly in sight though.

_Well, she has been begging to be allowed to go with Wavy on a sleepover. With how well her studies have progressed, she deserves a slight respite. Let's hope nothing bad happens. _

Almost instinctually, I find myself straying closer to the maps pinned on the far side of the wall. There were three. One was a planetary map; the other a map of Saint Gabrea City and its surrounding areas, the last was a graphite sketch of this Forge City – Starstep. The Starstep City map is the map I examine.

There. Graveglade's Rest. At the edge of the city. A group of hills turned into a memorial, commemorating a memory so old it has become a myth. As much as I'd hate to admit it, Graveglade was perhaps one of the safest places to camp out. Between the reverence afforded to it by Farsight's culture, and the Mourning Knights that guarded and patrolled it, both Winter and Waverly are as safe as they could ever expect to be.

Still, I didn't survive this long by being an optimist. On the contrary, I survived by being a pessimist, but an _extremely_ prepared pessimist. I start to eye my trench coat, already forming a plan to monitor the two juvies.

_I have magnoculars in the lower left waist pocket; it shouldn't be hard at all to get the Knights to give me a free pass. I have the papers to prove Winter is my charge... That might arouse suspicion. How about if I just sneak in there? No, those knights are bound to check up on them, to make sure they aren't up to anything. They might spot me. Oh, Emperor's Throne, why would they suspect me? I'll just stop by their guard post and tell them to keep an extra careful eye on the girls…_

_Yeah, let's start trusting the planetary enforcers. Very smart. Heh, the next thing I'll be doing is sharing my investigations with the planetary governor._

My mind made up, I start packing up for the journey. Lifting the cushions on the recliner, I take out the camo-cloak secreted under it. Next came the photo-visors from the hidden compartment in the kitchenette. Then the dependable Ius autopistol, my badge of office as well as my old Arbites badge, and the photo-visors from the trenchcoat pockets. After putting on an extra layer of clothing to shield me from the night cold, I felt prepared.

_They did say they wanted to visit the farmer's market before camping out. If I leave now and take a pedalcab I'll arrive at Graveglade before the farmers' market closes. Knowing them, I'd daresay they'd stick around until it gets dark at the very least. I wonder if Wavy would finally get Winter to drink those Jawmelters there. Heh, I'll make sure Winter gives me a report tomorrow._

All in all, guardianship has not been nearly as hard as I feared it to be. Even before her parents got killed, Winter had been staying in a boarding schola, so she didn't meet them often. For the most part, Winter had enforced a strict schedule on herself as to not dwell on it. It was an endeavour I have eagerly supported. Between her diligence and her increasingly apparent voracious reading habits, she has excelled in the curriculum I laid out for her.

Weekends were a touchy subject, as the memories were the closest to her during them. Since her breakdown in the voxhub during her first night here, I haven't caught her crying nor have I seen any signs of her having done so. Still, she grieved, even if tears were lacking. A stony stare directed at the sky, as if trying to make shapes of the drifting clouds. The sudden tight hug; started and ended without a word said. Though I am glad she at least sees me as a source of comfort, I am frustrated by her unwillingness to open up.

A sigh escapes me. I know all too well that she is repressing her feelings, and repression will not work if you are still so young and naive. Mind wipes aside. Well, here's to hoping that some comradeship with a fellow from the fairer sex will get her to loosen up a bit.

I put on my trench coat, and take my hat as I stroll towards the door.

* * *

><p>"Winter, get tha wooden hammer an help me pound this stake in." Orders Waverly, as she pointed at the pack that had all the camping implements.<p>

A quick search through its contents yielded what I though she meant. "This one?" I ask, holding the hammer in my hand.

"Yup, now come here." She beckons to me. "I'll hold tha stick, ya hit its top. Make sure ta hammer it straight down." She traces the arc of the hammer in the air to show what she meant.

"Got it." I strike down carefully, hoping to do it right.

"Winter!" She yells. "Aint gonna get done with it if ya hit like that! Put some brawn into it!" Her free hand starts pantomiming swift and hard hammering.

"Alright…" I stand up and lift the hammer over my head, ready to put my entire back into it.

"Cacol!" She swears, hastily gesturing for me to stop. "Not like that! Stop! Ya'll hit me on tha head."

"You told me to hit it harder!" I protest, raising my arms in frustration.

"God-Emperor! Yer helpless in this are ya?"

"What part of 'I've never been camping' don't ya understand?" I cross my arms, pouting at her. "This is one of the first times I've been in the open like this. Come on, can we get this tent up any faster?" The winds are getting stronger, and to be honest, the absence of any enclosed spaces is starting to make me feel ill at ease.

Another strong gale buffets the hilly meadow we're at, and I shiver despite the thick clothes I've been lent.

Seeing my discomfort, Waverly lowers her eyes. "Sorry Winter. Here give me the hammer, you'll do tha holding instead." She proffers her hand to me, and I quickly give her the wooden hammer.

We exchange positions and she kneels next to the stake I hold. Using a single hand, she quickly pounds it into the ground. During the next few minutes we quickly hammer the remaining stakes into the ground, and after a bit of fumbling, we put up the poles and erected our tent.

"Not so hard now is it?" Waverly says, starting to move our stuff into our newly established shelter.

"Can't have done it without you." I mumble, heaving the bag of blankets inside.

"Hey," I felt a tug at my sleeve. It was Wavy, holding the glow-globe the Knights had provided to us in her other arm. "I'm sorry, really I am. I… kinda forgot ya weren't from around here."

Surprised by both her sudden apology as well as its message, I couldn't help but give a small chuckle. "Nah, its okay. Really though? How could you forget that?"

"I guess I just got carried away. After all the fun we had at the farmers market." She starts to lay down the rectangular cloth over the thin tent fabric, I follow suite. "I mean, during that market trip, it was like ya've been here yer entire life!"

"Huh? You sure?" I state as I patted and straightened out the fabric to make sure they were spread equally around the tent floor. "I stuck out like a sore thumb, and I was awestruck at some of the food sold there."

"Sore thumb?" She gives me a questioning look. I remember that some phrases used in Redsand might be unheard of here.

"I mean that I was obviously out of place, like how a sore thumb is obviously different from the rest of the fingers." I say, using my fingers to illustrate what I meant.

"Oooooh!" Waverly's mouth forms a circle as she exclaims. She giggles a bit before continuing. "Yer really interesting, ya know that? I keep learning new things each time we chat. Oh, and button up the flaps will ya? I wanna keep that wind out."

I do so, meanwhile she started to roll out the sleeping bag she bought with her. "Well, yeah, ya stuck out, but you just had so much direction! Ya'd take one look at the map and speed off. Even with all the crowds, ya'd just breeze through them!"

At this I laugh. "Ha! It's just something you pick up when you grow up in the hives. The crowds there aren't just clumps of people, they could be kilometers long!" My smile fades momentarily as I remembered the rush hour during the release period of each day cycle. It was a seemingly endless tide of people in drab and weathered clothing shuffling towards the elevator hubs. No longer having to shoulder through it every day cycle was one of the reasons I enjoyed my life in the boarding schola.

"As for the map reading, when so many people are pressing around you, you learn to take things in fast, and at least the market layout was simple." With all the 'furniture' laid out, we took out all the consumables we either bought from home or from the farmers market.

"Simple?" She repeated doubtfully as she slid into the fur sleeping bag.

"Yup. It wasn't too detailed, simply divided the market into areas depending on what they sold. Not much to it other than 'go in that general direction'. Back in the hive, we'd have main roads, secondary roads, sublevels, and all manner of crisscrossing halls and access ways. Even then we were lucky, as almost all the areas we had to travel past were powered and lighted." I look curiously at the fur sleeping bag. "That's for the both of us?"

"Yeah! Don't worry, old uncle Mathas said it could even fit four people if they're willing to huddle." She said, referring to the Mourning Knight that had lent us most of our camping equipment. I decide to slip into the sleeping bag with her. "So… some area's in the hive weren't powered?"

"Yup, especially in the lower levels of the hive. I heard some levels didn't have any electricity access at all. So they'd always be dark." Staring upwards, I notice that the tent that the Knights had lent to us is larger then I thought. I couldn't stand up in it, but there is more then enough space to roll around.

Our conversation drifts after that. I talk Redsand, the masses of people, the all-encompassing metal and concrete, and what I learned in my old schola. She, in turn, talks about her life back in the farms with her parents and family.

Perhaps it was not the best topic, for we soon stumbled into a sensitive subject.

"I wish I could still be there, tending tha farm."

Her mother and father are dead, and her brothers missing, probably enslaved. I have known that for some time now. She has not divulged the details of her parent's death. To be honest, I don't want to know, it reminds me of my own troubles.

Still, for some reason, the confining, though not constricting, condition of the tent made it hard for me to simply ignore such an obvious bid to share.

"What happened?"

"Bandits." She answers, staring straight upward, as if gazing at the sky blocked by the fabric of the tent. "They attacked our landlord's homestead. It… It was, well," She hesitated, but continued on; though I felt her words were in itself a delaying tactic. "It wasn't a village mind ya, just tha land lord house's an six other families. We were about a half-days walk from the nearest village; but we had a few muskets an axes, an other weapons – even had a stubrifle. Enough ta keep ourselves safe. At least, we thought." She stops for a moment, either collecting her thoughts or steeling herself.

"Me an a few other girls were out in one of the outlier fields checking the drying stacks of the fairfax to make sure they could be woven later."

Fairfax was one of the unique grains in Farsight, just like grun wheat. Unlike grun wheat, which was often grounded into powder to be used as flavoring, the grains fairfax yielded were often turned into biscuits and hardtack due to its flavorless but long-lasting qualities. It's main use though, was that its stalks could be dried and later woven into vests and jackets. While it was rigid and didn't help much with heat retention, clothes made from fairfax stalks were excellent wind-breakers, and were a popular outer layer of clothing for the poorer parts of Farsight society. It was one of the earlier stories that Waverly told me about, how her family would be busy for weeks after each harvest drying and weaving all the fairfax stalks.

"It was getting dark, and we were all about ta head back to the homestead when we heard these rattling noises. We were alarmed, but not scared, ya know? Chatterguns were new back then, an not one of us knew what they sounded like. So we just thought the Landlord's boys were having fun with some firecrackers. At least… until we heard the first musket shot." I do not know what a musket sounds like, but I am sure it has a distinct sound.

"We heard one shot, then another, there was no mistaking it. The chattering though, it kept on and on… We ran back to the homestead as fast as our feet could carry us. Stupid of us, b-but we didn't even know what was happening, just that it was bad. Luckily, we saw old Darvic halfway there. H-he was a neighbor, also tended the landlord's fields." She then audibly sniffles. I scoot closer and wrap one of my arms around her shoulders. It is a little bit awkward as we are both lain down, but she adjusts her body position to let it happen.

"He spotted us, started gesturing to us to stop. Barely said anything, but Emperor, the look in his eyes... We hid behind an outcropping in the middle of the fields. Darvic… he had t-this dagger. Kept on holding it, kept on muttering too. His arms were shaking. We just kept on hiding… even after we saw the homestead burning. By the time Darvic led us back to the homestead, it was dark." By now we are fully embracing, facing each other. It reminds me of when I was younger, crying into Mother's embrace. As I softly pat her head (emulating Mother), I note she has slightly broader shoulders.

"We found the priest at the edge of the homestead. He was there, burying the bodies. Mother and father had their heads covered in cloth… I couldn't find any of my brothers." Her sniffles are joined by a sob. "I… I k-kept on asking the p-priest why they had to k-kill mother? Father, he was shot, I could accept that. He was a hunter… But mother? Why? The… they… her throat. Her clothes were bloody and messed up… rips everywhere. B-brothers n-nowhere." She is sobbing freely now.

"Its ok…" I whisper softly, slowly consoling her. I keep reassuring her with calming words, even as the realization of what happened to her mother hits me. Father, why did you make me read those dossiers?

"I k-kept on asking w-why they had to beat her to death… but the priest wouldn't answer. He j-just said she resisted too much." There was silence after that. Her sobs gradually dies down as I continue to coo heartfelt reassurances.

"Wavy… Did you hold a funeral? For your parents?" I eventually ask.

She sniffles faintly before answering. "Y-yes. We did. There were a few shovels left, so we dug their graves, along with tha graves of everyone else they killed. The priest gave em the Emperor's Blessing."

Burial. That was another new concept. The people of Farsight dug holes in the ground, lowered the cadavers of their loved ones into it, and then resealed it after some final farewells. That is a funeral for Forsightians. When a location or area is used only for funerals, it is called a graveyard. Graveglade Rest, where we are staying right now, is also a graveyard filled with heroes and wise ones long departed. Both Wavy and the other Forsightians believed that this was a holy ground, they even have a special week where people would set up camps within Graveglade in a type of pilgrimage.

"So, you managed to send them off?" I continue.

"Yeah… I sent them off."

"That is good then. It is a blessing to be able to attend you parents' funeral. Both for you and for them."

"Really?"

"Yes. There was this saying, back in the Hive, 'Blessed are the departed dead whose offspring their funeral attend.'" I quote. "Life was busy, and the bodies of the dead had to be removed quickly. So if you were lucky enough to have any family attend your funeral, it was considered a very personal blessing from the God-Emperor."

"Ah… Wow. Ya can't even attend yer parent's funeral there? Everyone attended the burials back in the homestead… before that happened." She mumbles in a morose fashion.

"People would if they could, but between how long it took you to know about the death and how long it would take to travel back home, the only people that could attend were usually the people who were close by when you passed away." I pause for a moment. "I'm sure a lot of the people who were buried that day had no family to mourn them, but your parents did, even if it was only you."

It takes a few moments for my words to sink in. It was something Mother would always do whenever I lost something; reminding me of what I had left, what I managed to do.

"Yeah. Count your blessing eh?" She eventually replies, starting to shrug off her inner gloom.

"Sure thing. I'm happy I met you." I give her head a small pat before I slowly relinquish her.

"So am I. Winter… did you attend your parents' funeral?" We are back to our original positions, though now there isn't any space between us. I feel her arm next to mine.

"Yeah. I was lucky, I saw them off." I said, trying to dodge the specifics.

"Yup…" She trailed off.

After some silence, I decided to change the subject to happier topics.

"Hey, Wavy, do you know one of funniest things I learned back in the Adept Schola?" I say, trying to inject a light-hearted tone into my words.

"Hm...?"

"The Mechanicus hates accountants. One of my instructors used to tell the class that all the time."

"Accountants?"

"Yup. Accountants are a special type of adept that usually works for the Administratum. The machine spirits of the equipment that the Mechanicus provides to their workplaces have a reputation for being deviously mischievous." I laugh to myself. "All because those poor souls have to calculate the depreciation values."

I still find it very amusing, really. By logical thought, any type of machine, no matter how well maintained, will slowly degrade from wear and tear. So obviously as the machines get older, any accountant would adjust their values. Degradation of equipment means the depreciation of its monetary worth. To the Mechanicus though, saying that age and value are inversely proportional amounts to blasphemy. Quite literally in some cases. What's more, they are often right, especially with all the relic machinery present in the Imperium.

Turning my body slightly to face Wavy, I smile slightly at her before I continue. "Here, let me explain what depreciation is all about…"

* * *

><p><em>Ok… So nothing bad is happening so far. They're no longer hugging. Back to monitoring duty then. <em>Readjusting my magnoculars I return to sweeping the area around them. I've seen a few patrols from the Mourning Knights stray close to the camp, but they seem happy enough to leave the girls undisturbed. To be honest though, this idea of monitoring Winter seems more and more pointless by the minute.

I managed to get a good and concealed position on one of the knolls around the glade. Their tent wasn't exactly close to my hideout, but with the magnoculars I have it won't be a problem. Enhanced with both infra-red and photo-enhancers, I could track their thermal signatures just fine with it.

_Why did I decide to do this again? _ I think, recounting my reasoning. _First, I don't trust the Mourning Knights. Second, perhaps I still feel a bit jumpy because of that diner shootout. Third, it is Winter's first sleepover since she became my charge, and Wavy had to bring her camping… in the middle of a graveyard. That is more than enough justification; I'm not pushing back anything important either. Besides, this is relaxing._

It hits me when I realize that I haven't done any old fashioned stakeouts for years now. Ever since I became a Herald, it turned into a rare occurrence. Well, I guess I should enjoy it while it lasts.

I suddenly tense, the sound of a cracking branch alerting me to the presence of someone nearby. Reacting quickly, I duck into the natural indentation of the ground, shifting my camo-cloak to cover myself completely. With my own eyes covered, I must rely on my hearing.

Soon afterwards, I hear the sound of boots and the slight clanking of armor. It is pair of Mourning Knights, judging from the amount of footfalls. Why did they come this way? No paths led to this knoll.

They trudge wordlessly past the thicket of bushes I hid myself behind, but they stop no long afterwards.

_They must be looking for a vantage point as well._

"Kay' we're here now Forward. Wanna continue that talk?" Says a gruff male voice.

"That tent over there. Whose is it?" Answers a feminine voice in a much lighter tone. I strain to hear what she says.

"Two campers, both juvies. Don't think they're really here to pay their respects, but they seemed like a kind pair of girls. Both of em' are orphans." The male voice replies, his voice loosing some of its impatience as he did so.

"You know a lot about them." She gave her words as a statement.

"Yes. Well, one of them. About a year ago…She was one of the girls we picked up at Footfall Port while we were doing a routine relief mission. Somehow, the girl managed to travel there all the way from the Fairfax Peninsula, pretty much all by herself." He said. "Anyway Forward, if you're gonna tell me something, tell me now. The lads'll notice our absence sooner or later."

There was a moment of pregnant pause before she answered.

"Do you remember about the little package we found?" Says Forward.

"You've got news about it?" His tone is anxious and words rushed. This must be a point of concern.

"Tracked down one of the runners. He works for the Manuels sir." My ears perk up at the mention of that name.

"Damn! Are you sure?" He asks, only to curse a few moments afterwards.

"Saint's sorrow, this utter cacol! That… that barely makes any sense! Why would they attack something that was going to be shipped to them anyway?!" I could hear his footsteps as he starts pacing.

"Well, the papers we found only said that the package had been shipped to Johan's Port before it was smuggled back. A disagreement of some kind could have happened in the last minute." She interjects coolly.

"Argh, Emperor _damn_ this affair! Johan's Port is a Greenie stronghold. We all know that. And how long could you trace the paper trail back?"

"Nearly a decade, with regular shipments up until a year ago. I find it nearly unbelievable that it managed to pass though your intelligence nets for so long." Her voice has a teasing, if not exactly mocking, tone.

"Yes, why we're all a bunch of loyal servants of the law, aren't we?" He mutters, voice dripping with sarcasm. He makes another sound of frustration. "Look, I'll arrange your transfer back to the Capital, via _Lifeline Goliath_. I won't inform my superiors, but by the Emperor you should inform yours."

"Thank you. I am in your debt." Came Forward's voice… I notice that she sounds someone in the peak of her vitality. Probably in her late twenties or early thirties.

"We do what we can. Now hurry off, the change of the guard is soon. I need to be in my cabin."

"Of course." Forward responded. I hear her fading footsteps as she hurries down the knoll, she does not pass near me, so I assume she is using another route.

Her male accomplice loiters for a few moments, despite being the one to who ended their meeting. With a world-weary groan, he starts back down the road from which he came.

"Now I'll need to persuade that old grox to strengthen our complement in Footfall Port…"

Soon the sounds of his footsteps and voice rescind. I am alone once more, barely able to believe what had just happened.

_I just eavesdropped vital information from a secret meeting; while hiding in the bushes because I was keeping tabs on Winter? Never in my life…_ My mind trails off, unwilling to compile just how absurd what just happened was.

Remembering my initial reason to be here, I quickly shift my body and head from under my camo-cloak and check on the tent, finding that the two were still awake, most likely chatting about something, judging from Winter's animated hand gestures.

On one hand, new avenues for investigation have opened up. On the other, I have evidence the Mourning Knights have been seeded with infiltrators. Not too surprising, but it is nice to have hard evidence.

_Well damn it, back to guard duty then. I'll need to make a journey to Footfall Port as soon as possible. Should I invite Winter?_ I mull the subject for a few moments. _No, still too soon, barely touched on combat and investigation techniques so far._

I bring the magnoculars back to my eyes, preparing to sweep the area around the tent once more.

* * *

><p>Swinging the door open, my first order of business is to hide my surveillance equipment. Quickly storing them in the many hidden compartments in my abode, I am soon free to start brewing some recaff. It is still mid-morning, and I am sure Winter won't get home until midday.<p>

_So… first things first. Summary report. Then check the mail. _Sitting down on the recliner, I flip the archival book open. Taking out my frindle, I start jutting down the details of yesterday's incident, along with what I could gleam of the two associates.

_Two operatives, suspected from different organizations_. _First is a Female, operating on the alias 'Forward', early middle aged according to her voice. Highly suspected to be a mole. Mid to low ranking within the Mourning Knights. Suspect she is a specialist of some kind, since she seems to have high independence within her role. Enough to conduct her private investigations without being discovered. _

_ The second operative is male, alias unknown. He is mid to high ranking, either within an administrative or leadership role. Can either influence or authorize transfer of personnel. Unsure whether he is only a sympathizer of Forward's organization, or is a turned operative from another faction. Age estimate is late middle aged._

_ The Female operative is being transferred to the Capital via the _Lifeline Goliath_, the only Omega-Class locomotive the Mechanicus has in operation on this planet [See codex entry on major transportation venues]. It is serving the transcontinental line between the Starport and the capital Saint Gabrea City. Exact date of transfer unknown, but "imminent", from pre-observed Mourning Knight efficiency, it should be within the week…_

I continue to write for a few minutes, until I notice small scratching noises. It's from the window. When I walk over to it, I see a sight that immediately causes me to open the window.

It is a pigeon. Judging from the cerulean colored feathers, it must be Arklight's pigeon. I let the bird in, closing shut the window behind it, and pulling the curtains. As it perched on my sleeves, I extracted the messenger capsule. Letting the pigeon fly off to one of the wall hangers, I crack open the capsule.

As I unrolled the paper the capsule previously encased, I already have an inkling of what its contents might be. Arklight isn't supposed to use his carrier pigeon unless drastic actions were needed.

The inscription on the paper is more akin to a scrawl then writing.

=_Mathias, I have found the road-wheeler type you wanted to purchase. There isn't any stock right now, but it will be shipped in soon. The Mechanicus will conduct an auction, perhaps even within the week. It will be in the Capital. There are others that will be joining the auction, most likely from the Capital area and the surrounding regions. If you want any chance to win it, I'd advise that you get your ass over here. This auction will be BIG. If we win this, I fully expect you to be paying me a bonus, and it better not be a deed for some piece of land in the outer islands again!=_

Reading the code was simple, just a manner of code phrases and words. _Road Wheeler_, _that means he found a lead on her, a very strong one_. As I thought, his next words indicate that she isn't on Farsight, but would be returning soon. _Auction_, so there's a major upcoming event, relevant to Mediatorum interests._ Happening soon, _might even be within the week. It would affect the capital city and the surrounding regions._ This city – Starstep city could be considered a neighbouring region…_

_ Better not be a deed for some land… _That meant I shouldn't try to meet Arklight in his office. I'd have to go to the prearranged meeting point.

Damn! This came at a bad moment. I might need to cancel my trip to Footfall port. Nonetheless, I trust Arklight. Simply sending this type of information through carrier pigeon instead of mail is enough indication of urgency.

I take a deep breath, and gaze at the message for a few moments.

_Time to plan for the trip. We need to get tickets for the _Lifeline Goliath_. Winter won't like this._

* * *

><p>"Winter… drop by every now and then, ok?" Waverly says, whilst hugging me tight.<p>

"Sure thing, I'll drop by every time I come to this city." I reply, hugging her back. Hopefully, that won't be a lie.

We broke off the hug. I take a glance around the recaf shop, taking in the weathered but cheery ornamentation. I can't but shake the feeling this would be the last time I'd lay eyes on them. Millie, who'd been content to stand behind Waverly, now steps forward and gives me a pat on the shoulder, before turning it into a quick embrace of her own.

"Thanks for having me." I say with heartfelt gratitude. I probably wouldn't have become Waverly's friend if Millie hadn't called her over during my first visit to this recaff shop.

"We own you?" Millie replied in what seems to be confusion. Ah, I forgot that isn't the local way to say it.

Millie waves her hand before I could start, "Just joking, I know what you mean. Yeah, I don't mind having you over. Yer a great patron, so long as yer not spilling stuff all over my floor."

"That was an accident!" Waverly mumbles. No doubt preparing for another bout of teasing from the grinning bartender.

I smile, and Millie starts with a voice of mock despair. "Here I was, being such a nice lady, giving you both free drinks, and do ya drink it? Nope, you had to nock both of your tankards off the table."

"I know, I know! B'sides, I wiped the mess up myself. So quit it!" Waverly answers in frustration.

"'S_o quit it!' _Is that what you say to woman who keeps a roof above your head?" Millie continues unfazed, inching her face closer to Wavy in an expression of exaggerated disappointment.

Our lighthearted banter is interrupted by uncle's voice. "Winter, the taxicab is here." Uncle Cyrus is standing at the door with our luggage in his hands.

I turn my head back at the two people who had fast become like relatives during my three-week stay here. "Well, I guess its goodbye."

"Yeah." Responds Millie, "What type of tickets did you get?" She asks Cyrus.

"Copper Throne single cabin." My uncle said in an uncharacteristic smile. "Figured she should have a view. Make up for how bad her journey to here was." He said, referring to how arduous the journey to this planet became due to orphanage agent Wakefields' miserly tendencies.

Millie laughs, and gives me a slap on the back. "Not bad! Not bad at all. The view from the cabin areas would be fantastic!" She then leans closer to me, her face turning serious. "Now chances are Uncle has already told you, but I'll just repeat what he said. The _Lifeline Goliath_ can be a dangerous place; so don't wander around by yourself. Especially not to the lower decks"

Uncle nodded. "Yes, I've already informed her. We've heard too many rumors about kidnappers and gang-pressers there to ignore the possibility." He hears a honk from the taxicab, and mutters something under his breath before addressing me again. "Look Winter, I'll give you another 3 minutes to say goodbye while I load our baggage. No more delays after that." He gives a small nod of deference to Millie before storming off, no doubt to placate the impatient driver.

Millie had a soft smile as she watched him through the windows. "You're a lucky girl, you know that? Well I guess we should make the best of the three minutes we have left. Wavy, why don't you run to the pantry and get her some of our seasoned fairfax cakes. I think we still have a few in one of the jars next to the grummy powder."

"Ah, yeah! Winter, you'd love these!" Waverly instantly ran to the pantry, leaving the two.

"Ok, now listen up, this is important." Millie said, her voice lowering. "I thought you'd spend more time here so I put it off, but since your leaving, I'll just say it now."

My curiosity piqued, I nod, allowing Millie to start.

* * *

><p>A.N: Well, thats a wrap! At first I wanted this to be two separate chapters, but I couldn't find a place where I could end the chapter without making it feel abrupt. I think I made a good call this time. A lot of character development and world-building (as well as foreshadowing) happened this chapter. Have any thoughts andor comments? Then post a review! :)

Review Replies:

**Heir of the Void: **Thanks! Its always nice to be appreciated. You'll see the Green Faction again soon. As for what happens when they get desperate though... *Sinister Cackle*. I can't give away the plot but you can say that cultists will be involved.

**Kamzil118**: Glad the fic defied your expectations. For what its worth, this chapter is longer, and I start my holiday break tomorrow, so progress on the next chapter should be swifter then usual (i.e: usual as in once a month :P).


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